


Fallout

by No_its_night_monkey



Series: Excavate [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adoption, Anger, Angst, Bullying, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Painkillers, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_its_night_monkey/pseuds/No_its_night_monkey
Summary: -Sequel to Excavate-Riley doesn't know how to live with a family. He's trying to learn. Really. But after eleven lonely years of abandonment and abuse, he struggles with his deep-rooted anger toward his Mom and the jealousy he has for his siblings burns. And despite the offer to adopt him, Riley still can't make heads or tails of what the hell Brad wants from him.Between pressures of a new family he can't figure out, a new school where he can't keep up, and painful memories of his father that just won't go away, Riley's finger is hovering over the self-destruct button. He doesn't want to be worthless, but he doesn't know how to be worth anything.Will his overwhelming fear of failure turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Series: Excavate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011195
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to Excavate! That story wrapped up in a nice little bow, but that's not how life works with such complicated family dynamics. If you have not yet read the precursor to this work, I urge you to go back and read that first in order to fully understand the content and characters. 
> 
> Also, this work is not fully written, so I will be posting chapters as I write them. And though I have most of this story mapped and outlined, I am open to any suggestions of interactions or relationships that you guys want to see more of. 
> 
> Thank you so much for visiting my work! I hope you enjoy!

_“Stay down!” The knives entered his hands, one right after the other, agonizingly efficient in slicing through his palms and into the floor. He was stuck. Again. And his father’s angry, drunken shadow loomed over him, ready to strike._

_“Mom!” Riley called out, trying to scream, but all that came out was a raspy whisper. “Mom! MOM!” He tried again and again until her comforting presence showed up, looking down at him. But she didn’t look kind. Nor caring. Certainly not loving._

_“Mom! Help me!” He tried to yell through the hoarse whisper. “Mom!”_

_But her face was cold and stony. And not just that. Her nostrils flared and her lip curled in disgust as she stared down at him like he was rotten roadkill. He wanted to yell for her again, so he could find the Mom who loved him and saved him. The Mom who wanted him._

_“Riley.” Her voice sounded deadly. He wanted to reach out to her, but his hands were still fixed to the floor. Each blade’s serrated edge felt white hot against him. The roaring in his ears was far louder than his screams._

_“Just like your father.” His Mom said flatly, turning and walking away with icy composure. Riley cried out, but even if he could scream at the top of his lungs, he didn’t think she would turn around._

_An evil cackle blared loudly. His father appeared overhead, his steel-toed-boot-covered feet raised ominously above his face. Riley couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. And he couldn’t even blink, for fear that the foot would be driven down forcefully in the split-second of darkness._

_“She left you, remember? Dumb son of a bitch. You never learn.” Keith slammed his foot down, and between the crunch of his obliterated nose and knocked-out teeth, he heard “STAY DOWN!”_

_But it wasn’t Keith. Or his Mom._

_It was Brad, laughing evilly at Riley’s misery._

_____

“Ri! We’re leaving in five!” 

He snapped to attention, blinking heavily until his blurry eyes cleared and he could see his reflection in the mirror. Nausea made him slightly dizzy and the weight of panic settled onto his chest securely as he tried to escape the vivid imagery from last evening’s night terror. 

All of it felt so real. The knives, the stomp, his Mom’s turning her back. He supposed that since all of those things had actually happened to him that he was just remembering what he’d felt in the past. That revelation brought him no comfort. 

“Riley, get moving kid!” Brad’s impatient voice called from the foyer, finally catching his attention. “We don’t want to be late on your first day!” Riley’s stomach curled in on itself and he unconsciously furled into his standard defensive stance.

Today was his first day of school. His first day at the private high school where Sharon and Brad had enrolled him after Christmas. Riley’s first day of school since the classroom meltdown that precipitated his father’s arrest and his mother’s return to his life. 

He didn’t want to go. 

As much as he’d lied to them when they asked him if he was “ready and excited” to start at a new school, Riley felt guilty for the blatant dishonesty. He wasn’t ready to leave his safe cocoon and face a “new life” at a new school. He wasn’t excited at the prospect of “making new friends and trying new activities.” 

Those words were Sharon and Brad’s, not his own. Riley didn’t want to start at a private school where he was a new student midway through the year. He didn’t want to wear the school uniform, though it was just khaki pants and a navy collared shirt with the school crest on the breast pocket. And he didn’t want to deal with the awkward questions whenever he came home and his Mom asked about all the friends he made.

Nervously, he flexed his hands into tight fists and released the tension before repeating the motion. The sharp, bone-deep ache erupting from his palms and spreading through his fingertips and his wrists was grounding. It was familiar. Riley knew pain. He knew what to do with pain. Riley didn’t know what to do in this situation.

“Ri, let’s get a move on kiddo!”

He flinched back at the impatience in Brad’s voice, and the sound of jingling keys let him know that his time to avoid the inevitable was running dangerously short. 

Riley picked up the brand new backpack that Sharon bought for him, which felt just as foreign as the stiff, high-quality clothing on his body. And just before he left, he grabbed the orange bottle on his bedside table and popped one of the white circular pills, swallowing it dry. 

Apprehensively, he eyed the second pill in his palm. He wanted it. But he knew he shouldn’t take it. The prescription called for one pill as needed. One. Not two. And this was his last refill. Taking the risk to swallow another Oxy would only screw him over later. 

But still… he wanted it. He wanted more of the light and fuzzy sensation, and more time without chronic pain left behind from his knife wounds. And when Riley was in the sweet spot of the drug, he didn’t think about his father, nor his mother, or Brad, or his siblings. Riley didn’t think about anything, and that was just when he was happiest.

He debated for a few more moments, nervously chewing his lip before dropping it back in the bottle and twisting the lid back on. When he left his bedroom, it wasn’t without regret.

_____

“Are you excited about your first day?” Brad asked, glancing away from the stopped traffic toward the tense, huddled teenager in the passenger seat. Riley just shrugged. 

“What subjects are you looking toward?” He tried again, only to be met with another shrug, paired with a suspicious side eye from Riley. 

“Any sports you want to try out for? Basketball tryouts are soon, and track starts next month.” This time, Riley just stared at him with a tinge of terror, as though he didn’t know what the right answer was to make Brad happy. 

Trying not to make his sigh too obvious (Riley was incredibly sensitive to making anyone around him unhappy), Brad gave up and let silence take over. He knew his step-son was nervous for his first day, and even on his best day, Riley was not a verbose kid. Brad just wished that he could measure any sort of progress between him and the kid after they started the adoption paperwork. 

Most interactions Brad had with the kid seemed to be one step forward, two steps back. It frustrated him that every single gesture he made to Riley in trying to live up to his promise and show him how a real father should act was met with trepidation and a flash of fright that mirrored his expression on the night Brad shoved him. 

Brad couldn’t blame the kid. How could he? He got physical with his wife’s heavily abused son. Riley didn’t owe him anything, trust- or response-wise. It was hard for him to stomach, having held the trust and admiration from his three biological children. Audrey, Matt, and Andy may not look on him kindly whenever he had to be authoritarian regarding chores, homework, or responsibility, but they never, ever, for a single moment feared that he would be violent with them.

But, if Riley’s wary eyes and pinched expression were any indication, that was the only conclusion the kid could believe in. He supposed that one of the countless scars winding around Riley’s body belonged to him. The now-healed, but once split skin just above the nape of his neck, at the base of his skull, where it collided with the corner of a baseboard after being shoved so forcefully… Brad tried not to think about it.

Waiting in the left turn lane, the only sound in the car being the repetitive tick of the turn signal, Brad was actually startled when Riley was the next to speak. His voice was low, closer to a whisper than anything.

“Where was Mom this morning?” He accelerated through the intersection before answering.

“Your Mom had to leave early to take Matt and Audrey because the band had a meeting before school, and she had to drop Andy off at preschool too,” he explained absently, looking for the turn to the high school. He wasn’t familiar with it yet, not having a teenager before now.

Unsurprisingly, Riley didn’t respond, choosing only to nod slowly, looking out the window. He couldn’t tell if Riley was upset or not by the explanation. The kid’s eyes only ever showed him extreme caution and a preparedness to flee. Brad chose not to dwell on how he was pressed up against the car door, putting as much space between them as possible. 

Brad pulled into the drop-off line in front of the school, stopping the car and putting it in park before turning his attention directly to his step-son. His first day. It felt like an appropriate time for a father-son moment, a time to impart wisdom and advice to Riley. And judging from Riley’s paralysis, he needed a bit of encouragement.

“Don’t be nervous kiddo. You’re going to do great,” he chanced, but Riley didn’t appear to hear him. “This is a great school. Lots of great teachers… and great sports.” Brad cringed at how flimsy his father-son encouragement speech came out. Could he have used an adjective other than “great?”

Just as he prepared to launch into it again, Riley hurriedly opened the car door and fled, a muttered “thanks for the ride” before slamming the door behind him and striding away into the crowd of uniformed teenagers.

“Have a great day kiddo,” Brad said to himself defeatedly, watching until he couldn’t see Riley any longer before driving away.

___

Riley watched regretfully as Brad drove away, unable to shake the pit in his stomach that swore he’d done something wrong. Still, he couldn’t figure out how to be around his step-father, how to act. And true to form, when faced with a situation that he had no idea how to handle, Riley froze. 

He hated that he couldn’t answer Brad when the man was clearly trying so hard to foster a relationship between them. Rude. That’s what it was. The consequences of his perceived rudeness toppled him into a destructive spiral of fear.

The adoption wasn’t complete yet. Brad could still go back on it and he would have every right. Brad wouldn’t want a step-son who could hardly look at him, nevertheless answer a stupid yes or no question. Riley had no right to expect that Brad would agree to go ahead with adopting him when he was acting like a jackass. 

_You ruined it. You ruined it. You ruined it—_

A solid shoulder collided with his own, knocking him both out of his self-loathing diatribe and his balance. 

“Move it dick wad.” The taller, broader kid spat at him before walking toward the main entrance with a group of equally tall and broad friends, all cackling jeeringly. Riley wasn’t too discouraged by the encounter. It was status-quo for him in school. 

A new school didn’t necessarily mean a new social life. Sure, a friend would be nice. More than nice, really. A friend would mean the world to him, but he knew better than to expect it. And extending himself to try and make a friend? Well, he’d been tricked before and he wasn’t eager to repeat that painful humiliation.

Riley followed a big crowd of students into the school just as a cold wind sent shivers down his spine. It was definitely the cold weather, not the terror at starting a brand new school with brand new bullies, and countless ways to disappoint his teachers and parents. 

_You’ve got this Ri._

And as much as he tried to encourage himself, Riley’s thoughts kept going back to wishing he’d brought the second pain pill with him instead of putting it back in the bottle.

_____

Sharon dropped her forehead into her hand with a heavy sigh. The headache that bloomed when she started reading the legal papers in front of her was cresting at the moment and she had to push them away.

Between the intense legalese, the complicated case, and the gruesome statements and vivid details about the child abuse charges against Riley’s father, Sharon couldn’t handle more than a few minutes at a time of reading through the latest update from the lawyer. 

According to the lawyer, who she felt was paid entirely too much per hour, the case would be open and shut if Riley agreed to testify about the abuse. But there was no way Sharon could ask that of her son. She was working tirelessly to build up trust between them, and she feared that if she asked him to talk in-depth about what he went through, what Keith did to him, that it would effectively demolish any fragile trust they’d established. 

So, without Riley’s testimony that would be valuable, but came at too high a cost, the case against Keith was coming down to other witnesses, such as the teacher who had witnessed her son’s initial meltdown, doctors and nurses who treated him when he was physically at his worst, and the vague statements that Riley had provided while still drugged up in the hospital.

The lawyer assured her with every update that their case was looking good, and that the only defense Keith had was just straight up denial, but the stress was still eroding her patience and sanity.

Even without the criminal case, Sharon wanted terribly to know what happened to her son after she left him in his father’s care—no, not his father’s care. 

_After you abandoned him with a man you knew was capable of heinous violence under the vague promise that he wouldn’t hurt Riley the way he hurt you._

Sharon was still coaching herself to come to terms with the truth of what she’d done. Denying the factual history of her past actions and Riley’s pain only caused more hurt between them. She was trying, but shaking eleven years of convincing herself to believe one story wasn’t easily undone.

Anyway, she shook her head, the black print dancing across the white pages, knowing only the basics of Riley’s decorated history of abuse hurt her terribly. Sure, maybe some of her discomfort could be chalked up to morbid curiosity, but the truth went far deeper than that.

Sharon wanted to know his triggers so she could avoid them. There had been at least three separate instances where she and Brad had done or said something innocently, only to be met with a frantic, retreating Riley on the verge of a panic attack. 

Like when Brad had been cooking dinner and he distractedly asked Riley to turn on the front burner on the stove. Riley’s phone had clattered to the floor and he stared at Brad with wide, disbelieving, frightened eyes before breathily stuttering out that he needed to leave and fleeing to his room with the slam of a door.

Or when Sharon yelled to Brad that they were out of beer as the man departed for the grocery store. The first indication that something was wrong was Matt telling Riley that his character died on the video game they were playing, immediately followed by Matt asking what was wrong. Sharon had rushed into the living room to find Riley sitting on the floor, curled into a defensive ball and fists gripping his hair until his knuckles were white. His agonized mantra of whispering “no, no, no” through clenched teeth still played in her mind hauntingly. 

Unfortunately, any efforts to get Riley to open up to her about the abuse had been disastrous. At first, he tried to talk to her. He really did. Her heart broke as she recalled his efforts. Veins popping out of his sweaty forehead, fingernails picking harshly at his cuticles until the skin shredded and bled, completely unable to force a single word forward despite an open mouth and best intentions.

Sharon stopped asking quickly, hating to see lengths in which he would try to go to please her. She didn’t want to put him through that again and put their shaky, tentative relationship at risk. If it was up to her, her first born would neve experience another moment of pain for the rest of his life. 

Determinedly, Sharon pulled the thick file of papers back in front of her, taking a long draw from her coffee cup and digging back into the documents. If it would prevent Riley from having to relive even a second of his father’s violence, she would read the whole thing ten times over.

But still, she wanted to know more. And if she couldn’t ask her son, maybe she needed to ask his father.

_____

School was… well, Riley didn’t want to say it was bad, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t good either. During lunch, after going through a brief orientation from a monotone office aide and four classes, it just felt the same as his last school. Though this was apparently an acclaimed private school, lauded for its students’ abundance of academic and athletic achievements, and an air of snobbiness dominated every corner, the dynamics felt the same for Riley.

No one spoke to him, which he was used to. The teachers looked at him suspiciously, which was familiar. And he was hopelessly lost in every single class. 

Riley didn’t like to think he was stupid, no matter what his father screamed in his face or his critical teachers wrote on his red-marked tests. But in his past life, or whatever “before” was, he had struggled to make school his priority when dealing with… everything he had to deal with.

Between studying for his geometry test and doing odd jobs to make enough money to pay the rent, Riley needed to choose rent. And doing enough research to put together his ten-page paper for history felt impossible when Riley was too hungry, too thirsty, and too beaten to get off the floor of his bedroom and crawl over to his backpack. 

In these classes, among high-achieving students, Riley was painfully aware of the disparity between what was being taught and what he knew. He really didn’t think he was stupid, but it was getting harder to believe in his own intelligence when he’d never even heard of the concepts on the board in chemistry. 

Acutely, Riley’s stomach turned sour and his cheeks flushed as the thought of his Mom and Brad wasting their money to send him to such a school. He was already anticipating with dread the day he had to face their disappointment in his failure.

And by the time his afternoon classes came, following the lunch he’d spent at a table by himself, staring at his lunch instead of eating it, the effects of this morning’s pain medication were almost entirely gone. 

Passing the afternoon hours by clenching his hands in and out of fists until they hurt kept Riley grounded. He couldn’t feel shame in everything he didn’t know if he focused on the sharp, shooting pain in his hands.

“Mr. Flanagan,” (Because just like the adoption, his name change was still in the words, leaving him with the internalized stigma of his father’s last name) came the strict, resonant voice of his literature teacher, startling Riley who looked up with his forehead creased. “Would you care to read the next passage on page 167 so the class can discuss prominent themes of nature?”

No, he wouldn’t care to. Especially with his nervous stutter. But the teacher’s pointed glare made it apparent that she wasn’t asking, but telling.

With a shuddering breath, and painfully clenched fists, Riley started to read and tried to block out the mocking whispers and low cackles of his peers.

_____

By the time dinner time rolled around, Riley was agitated and tired. He tried not to let it show too obviously as Andy wanted to play with him when he got home from school and Riley didn’t want his damp mood to affect the little kid. 

But as Brad called the family to wash their hands and come to the dinner table, Riley felt the mask he’d been wearing since the end of school slipping. It felt leaden and was hard to hold up. Earlier in the day when his Mom had picked him up from school, Riley had been able to at least force a smile and lie to her when she asked if he had a good day.

Now, he felt too tired to even try. 

Throughout dinner, he kept his head hung and picked at his food. He really should eat after not bothering with lunch. And he felt hungry and the pizza looked delicious. The reasons to eat kept mounting, but he couldn’t bring himself to, his depression taking up too much space inside him, weighing him down like he’d swallowed concrete that hardened in his stomach. 

Thankfully, by now his Mom could tell when he wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she didn’t force him to join conversations or ask any questions. She even diverted Brad when he started a line of questioning about what his favorite subject was at his new school. A swell of gratitude was the only warmth that permeated the cool sluggishness caused by his depressed state.

Riley was lost in his dark spiral and didn’t even notice when Sharon announced dessert until a slice of strawberry cheesecake was set in front of him. 

Strawberries. He was allergic to strawberries. They made his throat get fuzzy and close up and his skin break out in itchy hives. Intermittently, he flashed back to a trip to the hospital when he was very young. His mom holding him tightly in her lap, rocking him, kissing his head, and telling him over and over that he would be okay and that she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

Breaking into a panicked sweat, Riley thrust himself away from the table, stumbling to his feet like the dessert had burned him. 

“Ri, what’s wrong?” Sharon’s concern tried to break through his jumbled, frightened head. His eyes bounced around the room, landing on his mom, the plate, Brad, his sister, his brothers, Murph, before he dizzily tried to leave.

“A-all-allergic,” he stuttered, pointing a shaky finger at the cheesecake. His Mom just looked confused. 

“To what? Cheesecake?” Riley shook his head vigorously, and even though he’d had no contact with the offending strawberries, he still felt like his throat was closing up, breathing threatening to turn into wheezing. 

“No, no,” With monumental effort, he swallowed. “Strawberries.” 

He hardly noticed the realization dawning on Sharon’s face, her face falling with guilt as she rushed over and took the plate from his place setting. 

“Oh I’m so sorry Riley,” she reached out to him, but he retreated, in no mood to be touched. “I completely forgot that you were allergic…”

Riley knew he shouldn’t be hurt. It had been eleven years. So it would be unfair for him to expect her to remember the finer details of his medical history. 

_She’s only your Mother, after all._

But he couldn’t help but to feel slighted at her forgetfulness. He pushed down the angry ghoul that wanted to yell at his Mom and blame her for every ill feeling that rushed through his veins. 

“‘S okay, I’m gonna…” he choked on the words, disoriented and unstable. And then Riley just left. He took the stairs two at a time before slamming the door behind him in the safe haven of his room. His breathing came with a heaving chest and challenging gasps.

_You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay._

Riley’s attempt to convince himself failed as the adrenaline left him in a rush and his stomach flipped and ached. Frantically, he found the small waste basket next to his bed and heaved into it, strings of tangy, watery bile the only thing in his stomach to throw up. 

“Ri, sweetheart,” his mom rapped at the door, voice thick with concern and guilt. “Are you okay? Can I get you something? I saw you didn’t eat much—”

“I’m fine!” He yelled back aggressively through his wheezing breaths, agitation getting the best of him. 

“Okay Ri…” Her regret was apparent, even through the thick wooden door. Feeling reciprocating guilt was not in Riley’s wheelhouse right now though. Because she forgot. 

“If you need anything tonight, just come get me baby.” Riley nodded, saliva-coated chin hitting against the plastic wastebasket and then cringing as he felt stupid for nodding when his Mom couldn’t even see him. 

“I’m sorry Riley.”

Pushing himself away from the wastebasket after the imminent need to heave passed, Riley slumped against the uncomfortable leg of his desk. He was too tired, too bitter to respond to the apology and tell her that it was okay. It didn’t feel okay.

Nothing felt okay for Riley and every single thing that felt wrong in his life seemed to converge on him all at once, burying him like a rockslide. 

_Mom doesn’t know you. She loves your siblings more. Brad doesn’t want to adopt you. He regrets ever asking. They are wasting their money on you. You’re too stupid for that school. No one wants to be your friend. You don’t even know how to have a friend. And you can’t stop having nightmares about your father. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. You can’t make this better._

Or could he? 

Riley scrambled up and yanked open his bedside table drawer forcefully, the object of his urgency nearly glowing. Shaky hands extracted the orange pill bottle and it took him a few tries before he was able to remove the lid. 

This time, Riley didn’t hesitate to swallow two of the pills, though the prescription called for one. He didn’t want to feel what he was currently feeling, and this was the only way he knew how. The remaining six pills in the bottle stared back at him mockingly. 

_Only six… that’s not enough._

The sickly smell of his vomit hung stagnant in the air, but Riley didn’t pay it any mind. Falling face first onto his bed, he waited for the pain medication to make its way through his system and relieve him from the physical discomfort and push out the mental anguish. 

Not feeling was all he could ask for.


End file.
